


The Hunt

by kikkimax



Series: Defect triology [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikkimax/pseuds/kikkimax
Summary: Gideon gets to go on a hunt.





	The Hunt

 

 

_Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,_ _in sure and certain hope of the resurrection._

_\--Anonymous_

 

Morgan glanced out the window as the clouds slowly cleared and the earth came once again into view, stalling another second as he pondered Gideon’s latest, and most pointed question.  “Yeah, it was real,” he confirmed, stowing his tray table and returning his seat to a fully upright position as instructed.  “I saw it with my own eyes.”  There.  He finally said it, if not in so many words: ghosts do exist.

Gideon nodded thoughtfully while righting his seat as well but it was obvious, at least to Morgan, he was still just on the cusp of truly believing.  He was doing what he always did - pump for more information, turn it on every angle, dig, dig, dig.  “And the boys... what were they like?”

Being the witness under Gideon’s scrutiny was unnerving but since Morgan knew where he was coming from, and he himself was the uninvited guest at this party, he tried to relax and answer to the best of his ability all the while keeping his voice pitched for Gideon‘s ears only.  It was one thing to believe, it was another for an FBI agent to believe too loudly on a crowded aircraft. 

“Well, on the surface they seemed to be more interested in besting each other at jungle golf.  And they were, ah, hell,” Morgan swore, no sense sugar coating it.  “They were annoying.“

“I can see them that way,“ Gideon admitted with a small smile.  “Regardless of what they do, they are still brothers.  Go on.”

Annoying was as far as Morgan had intended to go, but of course that wouldn‘t satisfy Gideon.  “Sam is very knowledgeable, very intelligent,” he continued.  “He really knows his stuff and he has the backbone and strength to follow through.  They’re both in such amazing shape it‘s uncanny.  Let me say again what a relief it is they’re the good guys.”

“And Dean?” Gideon asked softly, almost reverently of the recently un-departed.

“Dean.  Dean is nuts.  Totally,” Morgan huffed with guarded affection.  “But he’s a real hero.  Dedicated, driven, fearless.  At least right up until that match is struck.  You were right about him, you know.  Everything you said.”

“I know.”  Typical Gideon.

“I would be surprised to find him really over his pyrophobia,” Morgan added as he reflexively braced for landing.

Gideon didn’t answer but the grim lines of his face spoke his agreement.

***

“Sam!” 

While relieved to hear Dean’s voice after watching him fly through the air and slam head first into a brick mausoleum, Sam couldn’t quite squeeze enough breath past the vise grip on his throat to answer.  He focused all his strength on keeping her from snapping his neck by punching her over and over.  His arms were a lot longer than hers but she was a determined little vampire and he was quickly losing steam. 

“Shit!”

There was a brief altercation just out of view.  Not that Sam could have seen anything anyway since everything was starting to get a little grey around the edges from lack of oxygen.  A reassuring spray of blood told Sam the other vamp had just lost his head.  Her concentration faltered but she didn’t let go.

“Down!”

The continued one-word sentences meant Dean was conserving energy.  Even if Sam couldn’t see him he knew his brother was as injured as he was pissed off.  Sam knew how he felt.  Everything seemed to be moving in super-slow motion.

Since Sam was already as down as he was gonna get, he braced for what was coming and got ready to move.  The familiar shh-shunk of a shotgun being pumped preceded the blast above him.  The spray of rock salt might not kill her but at close range it certainly got her attention as it roughed up her perfect ivory skin and suddenly Sam could suck in some air.  

He gasped greedily for less than half a second before rolling away.  Or trying to as she caught him high in the thigh with a knife.  Since when did vamps carry knives?  Oh wait, the one now sticking out of his leg was the same one he‘d been trying to cut her pretty little head off with.  Anoxia really put him off his game.

“Auugh!” Sam yelped as he sat up and grabbed the handle.  His eyes met her angry ones for an instant before her whole head went screaming away from him.  He saw the shock and surprise on her face followed by a machete blade and a large splash of blood.  3-D by Dean Winchester, who followed the swinging blade right down to the ground.  And stayed there.

Sam yanked the knife out of his leg and fell back as he released a clenched-jawed stream of profanity that would almost make his big brother blush.  Instead of relief the pain just felt different, and very, very wet.  When he could focus his eyes again he could just make out Dean’s unmoving boot in his peripheral vision a few feet away.

“Dean?”  Sam grunted, his voice sounding wrong to his own ears.  No answer.  He clamped a hand to his thigh and tried to stem the steady flow of blood while he still had the strength to do it.

“Dean!”  He tried again with more force.  It came out as a hoarse whisper.  The boot still wasn’t moving.

“Shit.”

***

Morgan stopped pacing and leaned against the rental.  The cold metal leaching through his clothes to his skin did wonders to keep him alert.  He regretted not asking for the red Mustang just for a change of pace but Gideon was a creature of habit and nothing but a large, dark SUV would do.  At least this one was blue, not that you could tell the difference under the canopy of night in the woods.

Although they had each had a nap on the long drive to these coordinates he couldn’t deny his enthusiasm for their little adventure was starting to wane.  And a perilous drive it had been with dark, winding roads and multitudes of deer.  To top it off, the Winchesters weren’t even here.

He checked the time before shoving his hands back in his pockets.  The breeze seemed a little cool for the season until he considered the altitude.  He sniffed and huddled deeper into his jacket as he contemplated taking shelter in the only slightly dilapidated cabin.  The locked door wouldn’t be much of a challenge; getting Gideon to give up his roadside vigil would be the hard part.

“You sure this is the place?” he asked just to fill the silence and maybe reel Gideon in from whatever far place he was rattling around in in that big, bulbous head of his.  Gideon had stopped asking questions an hour ago and that, even more than the absent Winchesters, had Morgan worried.

Gideon nodded distractedly, not as far gone as Morgan had feared, and flicked on his flashlight to check the ever-present map for the third time.  “Something’s wrong,” he finally admitted.  “The sun will be coming up soon.  I’m certain with John Winchester’s military background he instilled a sense of punctuality in his boys.”

“Agreed.”  Before Morgan could suggest trying to call them again he heard the purr of an engine in the distance.  “That sound like an old muscle car to you?”

“Yes,” Gideon said as his head snapped up and he turned toward the road.  Morgan couldn’t make out his face in the dark but he was sure Gideon was grinning like an idiot.

Soon headlights could be seen sporadically bouncing off the stand of aspens near the top of the hill next to them.  A few minutes later the lights broke over the ridge and came barreling straight at them.  Gideon’s smile surely vanished as Morgan tackled him out of the way.  Somehow the Impala missed sideswiping the SUV and screeched to a halt mere feet from the porch of the cabin before sputtering and falling silent.

“They’re here,” Morgan announced, pulling Gideon up with him as he rose from the leaf strewn ground.

Gideon huffed a non-response as he made a beeline for driver’s door without so much as a cursory swipe to dust himself off.  The beam of his flashlight revealed not Dean but Sam slumped behind the wheel.

“Sam!”  Gideon called as he opened the door while Morgan rounded the vehicle.  Gideon was rewarded with the barrel of a 9 mil shoved in his face for half a second until Sam seemed to come around. 

“Jason?”  Sam questioned, fumbling to put the gun away.  He gave up and lay it on the seat beside him.  The unmistakable scent of blood filled the chilly air as Sam pushed the door further open.  “See about Dean,” Sam continued as he tried to get out of the car.  His voice sounded strained, almost like he‘d been screaming.

“Take it easy,” Gideon ordered.  He pushed Sam back against the seat and began to assess the damage.  A leather belt was strapped tightly around Sam’s thigh above a hasty but passable field dressing.  “Apparently your father spent more time on first aid than timekeeping,” he approved.

“Dean,” Sam repeated insistently.

“Morgan’s on it,” Gideon assured as he loosened the belt and lifted the corner of the dressing.  “Damn,” he muttered as blood ran freely.  “Wiggle your toes for a minute,” he ordered before replacing the bandage and tightening the strap back down.

On the other side of the car Morgan was busy facing down a huge knife brandished by a barely lucid Dean in the back seat.  “You Winchesters may be crazy,“ he bemoaned.  “But you’re never boring.”

Gideon wiped his palms on a handkerchief before tucking it back in his coat pocket then pulled out his map again.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“I’m looking for the nearest town with a hospital.”

“No hospital,” Sam insisted huskily.  He winced as he flexed his hand but didn‘t mention the other injury or how it might have happened.  “Dean can stitch me up.” 

“Dean’s in no shape to do anything, let alone stitch you up,” Morgan replied as he easily liberated the knife and placed it safely on the top of the car and out of Dean‘s reach.

Dean muttered an unintelligible reply that sounded like a denial but it only served to back up Morgan‘s claim. 

“That’s okay, I can do it myself.  I just need help getting into the cabin.”

“This dusty old rat trap?  Oh, no, no, no,” Gideon disapproved as he searched his map with renewed vigor.  “That’s a serious wound and we’re going to a nice clean hospital with doctors and nurses and antibiotics.”

“What the hell happened?”  Morgan asked as he pulled out his phone and punched the screen a couple times.

“Vamps,” Dean grunted, struggling to sit up.  Morgan leaned in with one arm and assisted, holding the phone to his ear with the other hand.

“Did he say vamps?” Gideon looked up.  “Might I assume you don’t mean lascivious women?" 

“One of em was,” Dean laughed.  “Wait.  What’s lascivious?  That means hot, right?”  Morgan let go of him and he dropped back to the seat.  “Ow.  I‘m okay.”

“Vampires,” Sam hastened to explain. 

“Are you serious?  Vamp...” Morgan cut himself off quickly.  “Oh hey, baby girl, sorry to wake you.  I know it’s early but I need you to work some of your magic.  Yes, I’m sorry.  Okay, I’ll wait...”  He covered the phone.  “Vampires?  Are you serious?”

“We took down a nest a couple weeks ago near Amarillo.  I guess we didn’t get em all.”

“Bastards musta followed us,” Dean agreed, sitting up on his own this time.  “Ran us off the road last night.  We duked it out in a cemetery.”

“Of course.  Where else would you fight vampires?” Gideon asked acerbically.

Morgan shook his head.  “Vampires?  Really?”

Gideon tossed the map down.  “This doesn’t give me what I need.”

Morgan walked a short distance away.  “You ready?  Okay, track my phone and find the nearest hospital.  That’s right, Colorado.  No, it’s not a case.  Yes, I’m fine...   I’ll tell you later, I promise.  Thank you, sweet cheeks.  You, too.  Have a good weekend.  I’ll see you Monday.”

“Johnstown is twenty-five minutes that way,” Morgan said, pointing with his phone as he walked back.

“Yeah, we already knew that,” Dean informed him. 

“You woke Penelope for directions?  Dude.  Learn how to use that thing,” Sam scoffed. 

“Says the man who kidnapped her for a phone number.”

“Enough.  We’ll take the SUV,” Gideon decided, all business as he reached in to help Sam out.

“Not leaving my baby in the woods.”

“Dean, it’ll be fine,” Morgan countered.  “The rental is less conspicuous.”

“Try explaining the blood in the seat when you turn it back in,” Sam pointed out.  “Suddenly not inconspicuous at all.”

Gideon dug the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Morgan leaving no question of who would ride with the boys.  “We’d better take them both.  Slide over, Sam.” 

When Sam grabbed the pistol off the seat Gideon instinctively froze and Morgan actually reached to the nonexistent gun where his holster should have been. 

Sam stared at Gideon but Dean outright laughed at Morgan.  “Nice reflexes there, Tex.”

“We should probably gather these up and stash them in the trunk,” Sam explained as he handed over the 9 mil butt first this time.

“Good idea,” Gideon quickly agreed, leaning in to pop the trunk.  He helped Sam locate and gather the weapons in the front of the car while Morgan assisted Dean with the backseat, not forgetting the knife on the top of the car.  They met behind the Impala, each with an armload of weapons.

“Wow,” Morgan declared reverently as he finally got a look in the Impala‘s trunk.

“Oh, my,” Gideon echoed the sentiment.

***

They reached the small hospital just as the eastern sky was turning from dark blue to purple.  The emergency room parking lot was all but deserted leaving Morgan spaces on either side of the spot Gideon chose right up front.  He pulled in one place over as doors were open on both sides of the Impala.  Sam appeared weak as Gideon supported him but Dean got out of the car unassisted if a little shaky. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean warned as Morgan trotted over to help.  He shut the door nearly falling as he did but Morgan didn‘t reach out this time.  “Here’s the story...” Dean continued with a wince as the vibration of the slamming door reached his head. “Hiking accident.  We tumbled down a ravine.  Got it?”

“Why not just tell the truth?” Morgan regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth when everyone stopped walking to stare at him.

“That we were attacked by vengeful vampires?” Sam asked over his shoulder.  “Sure.  That’ll work.”

“I meant that you were in a fight.”

Dean shook his head and motioned for everyone to get moving again.  “Then they’ll feel obligated to call the police.  If we‘re gonna do this thing we need to get in and out.”

“We’ve come at this from every possible angle,” Gideon told Morgan taking more and more of Sam‘s weight as they got closer to the ambulance doors.  “They’re very good at this.”

The automatic doors swung open and a male staff member met them with a wheelchair.  His nametag indicated his name was Chuck and that he was a nurse.  “Need some help there big fella?” he asked as Sam gratefully eased down to the seat.  “You have a fight with a bear?” Chuck asked, immediately noticing the blood.

“Hiking accident,” Dean provided succinctly.  “We tumbled down a ravine.”

“I fell on my own knife,” Sam added.  “How clumsy am I, right?”

“You got two?” Morgan asked, indicating the wheelchair then Dean with a nod of his head.

“I’m fine,” Dean said with a glower Morgan’s way.  “We just need to get my little brother there fixed up.”

“If that’s your little brother, I’d like to see your big brother,” Chuck laughed as he wheeled Sam through the doors.

 "Everybody’s a freaking comedian,” Dean groused.  Gideon slipped Dean’s arm over his shoulder and didn’t take no for an answer as they followed.  Dean didn’t look happy but complied without comment.

 Morgan sighed and brought up the rear.

 “Take the other patient over there,” Chuck told them as he disappeared with Sam behind a curtain ‘wall’ that separated the ER into little cubicles.  “I’ll call up front and get someone in here to register you guys.”

 “There is no other patient,” Dean objected, planting his feet and refusing to move in the indicated direction.  “I’m fine!”

 “No,” Gideon disagreed, “You are not fine.  At the very least you have a concussion.”

 “A couple aspirin and some beer and I‘ll be good as new.  This is not my first head injury, you know.”

 “That explains so much,” Morgan said earning another scowl. 

 “All the more reason to get you checked out.”  Gideon stood firm, meeting Dean’s defiant glare head on. 

 Dean finally gave in with an exasperated eye roll.  “Whatever, but if I have to do this I want a female nurse,” he grumbled in a harsh whisper.

 “You’d think falling down a ravine would knock some sense into you,” Morgan said before turning to Gideon and pointing towards Sam‘s room.  “You take Jack, I’ll take Jill.”

 “If anybody’s Jack, I’m Jack,” Dean objected a little too strenuously as he had to put a hand to his head.

 “Oh, you’re a Jack all right,” Morgan agreed, relieving Gideon of his charge.

 “Family only back here,” another nurse advised as she appeared through an interior set of double doors.  She slipped an arm under Dean’s other shoulder.  He didn’t protest this time but leaned on her and smiled smugly as he hobbled away from Morgan.

 “Dog,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

 “I’m their father,” Gideon piped up.

 “FBI,” Morgan supplied as he flashed his badge.  “This man is a material witness under protective custody.”

 “Mmm hmmm,” the nurse replied without glancing at the badge.  “And a fine job you’ve done so far.“

 “It was a hiking accident,” Morgan offered defensively.

 “Here you go sweetheart,” the nurse told Dean as she got him settled on the edge of a stretcher.  “Let’s get you out of some of these clothes.”

 “Not on a first date, darlin’,” Dean joked.

 Gideon quirked a lip and disappeared into Sam’s room next door.

 ***

Three hours later Gideon perched half-asleep atop a metal stool while Sam reclined on a stretcher with his feet hanging over the end several inches.  He had already seen the doctor and gotten an IV, a tetanus shot, and an X-ray of his throbbing hand all the while declining to remove his pants. 

Dean and Morgan’s bickering had been somewhat amusing through the curtain but now Dean was off in CT and Morgan had opted to ‘walk a perimeter‘. What had not yet occurred was the stitching Gideon had insisted they come for.  Although Chuck had set up a sterile suture tray, with explicit instructions not to go near it, and pulled a light over to the side of the stretcher before disappearing again.   So much for in and out. 

Sam continued to hold a big stack of gauze to his thigh where his jeans had been cut away.  The blood was already soaking through and his patience was running thin.  When he finally decided enough was enough the diminutive gray-haired doctor who had examined him earlier tugged the front curtain back.  Sam swung his feet down and sat up finding he was still taller than her.

“Down,” she ordered as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

“Yes ma’am.”  Sam complied, sinking back to the stretcher and grimacing as she took his injured hand.

She glanced into his face as she manipulated the hand gently, letting her eyes travel down knowingly to the blossoming bruises on his neck.  “The x-ray shows you have a boxer’s fracture.  We‘ll get you fixed up with a splint, nothing else to do but let it heal on it‘s own.  Who’d you hit?” she inquired.

“Nobody.  I fell, remember?”

“Is that right, ‘ _Dad’_?” the doctor asked, finally acknowledging Gideon. 

 “Do you have reason to doubt it?” Gideon looked at her over the top of his glasses and answered the question with another question in his most rational tone.

 “Look boys, I’ve been doing this a long time.  They call it a boxer’s fracture for a reason.  Who did you hit?”

 Sam managed to wince and smirk at the same time.  “My brother,” he lied, shrugging at Gideon as the doctor looked back down at his hand.

 “Must have been some fight.  And then he stabbed you.”

 “No, ma’am,” Sam denied vehemently.  “That really was an accident.  My brother would never do anything like that.”

 “Yeah, gentle as a lamb, that one.”  She released his hand and shoed Gideon off her stool.  “Well accident or not, you need quite a few stitches in your leg.  Any worse and I’d have sent you to surgery for this.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “You’re lucky it didn’t hit the artery.  As it is I considered giving you a unit or two of blood, but you‘re young and healthy, you‘ll rebound in no time.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “First we need to get you out of these filthy pants and into clean gown.  No argument,” she cut Sam’s protest off before it left his mouth.  “I‘m not sewing you up just to have infection set it.”  She stared him down for a full minute.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam finally said and reached for his zipper.

***

 “Let’s get these abrasions cleaned up,” Dean’s nurse told him when he returned from his CT scan.  “Are you allergic to anything on your skin?” she asked as she helped him from the wheelchair to the stretcher.

 Dean lay down gratefully and closed his eyes.  “Stripper glitter,” Dean provided with a sly grin.  “Terrible rash...”

 “Uncool, man,” Morgan objected on the nurse’s behalf as she opened a bottle of peroxide and poured some into a stainless-steel bowl.

 “Although it might have just been a friction issue...”

 “Dean!”

 “Dude, nurses are very worldly.  Aren’t they, Lynette,” Dean asked, making the effort to read her name badge.  “In fact, fine as she is, Lynette here probably did a Playboy spread back in the day.  Something tasteful, artsy.  You did, didn’t you?” Dean asked, squinting a swollen eye open to wink at her.

Lynette lifted an eyebrow, dipping gauze into the bowl until it was dripping wet.  “No, I did not.  But thank you.”

“You don’t have to take that, you know,” Morgan advised. 

“Oh, I know,” Lynette said with an evil grin as she applied the cold liquid to the scrape on Dean‘s forehead eliciting a flinch as it bubbled away in the dirt and dried blood.  “Anyway, I get to stick him with needles later.”

Dean furrowed his brow and lifted his hand with the IV in it.  “Again?”

“At the very least you need a tetanus shot.  Then maybe a PPD, flu shot, rabies shot... anything else I can think of,” she teased.  “And I’m going to put them all in that cute little tushy of yours.”

“Cougar,” Dean growled back at her playfully.  “I knew it.”

Lynette smiled and took it all in stride as she continued to clean the small cuts and abrasions.  Dean winced each time she touched the gauze to a new wound.  “It stings,” he told Morgan with a pout.

“You know, for a bad-ass you’re really a big baby.”

“I’m _not_ a bay-bee.” Dean exaggerated the pout, his bruised lip sticking even further out.

Morgan chuckled but his smile faded as he recognized the flash of khaki that passed by the gap in the corner of the curtain as a law enforcement uniform.  One look at Dean told him he had seen it, too.

A minute later Chuck passed by with Sam in a wheelchair.  Gideon paused at the curtain and Morgan stepped out to meet him. 

“They’re putting Sam in room 210.  They want to keep him for a few days.”

“Yeah, Dean’s got reservations, too, but they haven’t assigned him a room yet.  So much for the hunt, we’ll have to fly back by Sunday night at the latest.”

“That still gives us thirty-six hours,” Gideon pointed out.

“Too bad our experts are down for the count.  Face it, Gideon.  It‘s not gonna happen this trip.”

“We’ll talk later,” Gideon said as he hurried along when Sam and Chuck disappeared into an elevator. 

Further down the hall the doctor spoke briefly with a deputy sheriff and they both headed Morgan’s way just as the elevator doors closed.

“So.  I hear you’re an FBI agent,” the deputy said suspiciously even as Morgan pulled out his badge.

The doctor gave Morgan the stink eye as she headed in to talk to Dean.

***

“Thank you, I’m fine,” Sam assured the young, totally smitten nurse’s aide as she fussed over him.  “Really, thanks.  I’m sure you’re got some actual sick people to take care of.”  He motioned to the door with an encouraging smile.

“Okay,” she gushed, backing away from the bed and straight into Gideon.  She spared him an annoyed glance before turning her gaze back to Sam.  “Call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“Anything at all.  Water or a warm blanket or...”

“Okay,” Sam agreed less patiently.

“Be sure and ask for Jennifer.  I‘m Jennifer,” she clarified.  “Call me Jen.”

“I will.  Bye, Jen,”

“Okay.  Okay.  Bye.”

“Bye,” Gideon threw in as she bumped the doorframe on her way out.  He shook his head in amusement and wandered over to the freestanding closet to stow the bag of Sam’s belongings.  “Oh, to be young and attractive,” he teased.  “And wearing a mini skirt.”

Sam blushed on cue and pulled the cover a little higher on his chest.  “One size fits all my ass,” he grumbled about the skimpy hospital gown.  “Give me my clothes, please.”

Gideon turned with a puzzle look as he closed the closet door.  “Why?”

“So we can find Dean and Morgan and get the hell out of here before we all go to jail,” Sam explained.  “You saw the cop talking to the doctor.  That‘s why we don‘t go to hospitals.”

“According to the doctor you need at least three days of IV antibiotics,” Gideon disputed.  “You’re not going anywhere.  Not jail, and certainly not out in the woods on a monster hunt.  You rest.  I need to make a phone call.”

***

As soon as the door closed to his private room Dean snatched the IV out of his arm and sat up in the bed.  He swayed precariously for a second when he swung his feet down and Morgan barely caught him before he tumbled face first into the floor.

“What are you doing?” Morgan asked as he tried to push Dean back down.

“Gimme a sec,” Dean muttered, closing his eyes and taking a couple deep breaths as he held on to Morgan‘s arm.  “Okay, clothes,” he finally ordered when he was able to fully stand.

“You are one stubborn mother,” Morgan complained, nevertheless piling Dean’s things onto the bed.  “And you’re dripping.”

Dean leaned against the bed and wadded up a corner of the sheet to put pressure on the hole left in his arm from the IV.  “All bleeding stops eventually, right?”

“That’s what they say.  Vampires?  Really?”

“Still stuck on that?“  Dean chuckled then slowly sobered.  “Look, Morgan, if I didn’t say it earlier, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Damn,” Morgan swore.  “Things must be worse than I thought.”

“I mean it.  Somebody’s gotta put this thing down and like you keep pointing out, I’m in no shape.  And since Sam‘s jacked up, too...”  He shrugged as he let off the pressure and checked his arm.  It was still oozing a little so he clamped his fingers a little tighter but seemed to wilt with the minor exertion.  “Gideon can help but you’re quicker.  Stronger.”

Morgan looked at him dubiously.  “You won’t let me help you cross the parking lot but you want me to kill a monster for you?”

“Will it make you feel better if I lean on you on the way to find Sam?”

“Actually, yeah.  This tough guy routine is getting old.”

“At this point I don‘t think it‘s optional,”  Dean admitted, checking his arm again.  Seemingly satisfied he dumped his clothes out of the plastic bag they‘d given him in the ER and began to sort them.

 “And this thing can’t wait a couple weeks?  A month?”

“No, it can‘t.”  Dean spared a second to glance at Morgan.  “Here comes the psycho-babble,” he declared as he grabbed his jeans and stepped into them with a concentrated effort.

“It’s been what?  Six months?  I’m just wondering why the rush now.”

Dean ripped off his hospital gown and dropped it to the bed.  He pulled a Henley over his head and grabbed his flannel shirt.  He sniffed it once, made a face and tried to shake the dirt out of it before tossing it back in the bag.  “Where are my socks?”

“On your feet.”

“Oh,” Dean said as he looked down and wiggled his toes.  He grabbed his boots and hobbled over to the only chair in the room.  “Say it before your head explodes.”  He dropped his boots and crammed his feet into them one at a time before easing into the chair.

“Say what?”  Morgan asked with what he considered to be a convincing innocence.

Dean tried to lean over to tie his boots but soon gave up and slumped back into the chair, grabbing the armrest for support.  “Say whatever’s on your mind that has that constipated look on your face.”

Morgan snorted.  “Fine.  I think this is a handy excuse for you not to have to deal with this thing.  This _fire_ starter.”

“Fuck you,” Dean said in a quiet but sincere voice.  “Go back to Washington, we‘ll find a way to do it ourselves.  We always do.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.  I just don‘t think now is the best time.”  Morgan’s phone vibrated and he quickly checked it.  “It’s Reid returning my call,” he said. 

Dean softened his glare. “Gimme.”

“Hey, Reid, somebody wants to talk to you,” Morgan said before handing the phone over.

Dean smiled a little as he lifted the phone to his ear.  “Yo, Doogie.  Sup?”  He pointed to his untied boot while he talked and gave a fair imitation of Sam’s puppy dog eyes as he lifted one foot.

“Are you kidding me?”  Morgan growled and looked at the ceiling before submitting.

***

Two hours after Gideon returned from making his mystery phone call the door opened and a fully clothed Dean, leaning heavily on Morgan, shuffled in.  Dean extricated himself from Morgan’s support without a word and lumbered closer to his brother.

“Move over,” Dean ordered as he sat heavily on the edge of Sam’s narrow bed.

Sam grunted but complied as Dean shifted over and put his feet up on the mattress, boots and all. 

“How many stitches?” Dean asked.

“Twenty-two.”

“That all?”

“I know, right?  But look.“  Sam poked a finger roughly at the bandage.  “It’s still numb.  We gotta get some of that lidocaine.”

“Wuss.”

“How’s your head?”

“Busted.  But not bleeding inside according to Doc-zilla.”

“Where’s your IV?” Gideon asked paternally, looking from Dean to Morgan for an answer.

“Huh?  Oh, I didn’t need that,” Dean explained, stealing the bed’s only pillow and making himself comfortable.

“He pulled it out as soon as the nurse turned her back,” Morgan tattled.  “He would have already signed himself out if it wasn’t for the sheriff’s deputy still lurking around in the hall.”

“Yeah, we hit a little snag.  Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman called five-oh.  We‘ll have to sneak out.” 

“We know,” Sam said.

“Nobody is sneaking anywhere,” Gideon insisted.

Sam and Dean shared a look that said otherwise.

“You couldn’t even tie your own boots,” Morgan reminded Dean. 

“Whatever.”  Dean suddenly broke out in a grin.  “Out of our whole bullshit story the part the doc didn’t buy was that Morgan is an FBI agent.  How rich is that?  Awesome.”  He started to snicker but closed his eyes and put a hand to his head instead.  “Ow.  Happiness hurts.”

“Serves you right,” Morgan huffed, leaning against the wall next to the door.  “And for the record she didn’t buy any of your stupid falling down a ravine story.  She thinks you stabbed your brother.”

Dean‘s disposition soured.  “Yeah.  She had the bed-side manner of Attila the Hun.  I‘ve met witches with more charm.  I hate witches.”

Morgan turned his attention to Gideon.  “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into this but I called Reid to back up our story, especially since that deputy ran my I.D.”

Gideon frowned as he nodded.  “I called Hotch,” he admitted. 

“Suit Guy?” Dean asked, opening an eye to peer at Gideon.

“Yeah, Suit Guy,” Morgan answered glumly.  “How did he sound?”

Gideon pursed his lips.  “Supportive,” he finally said.  “And like he’s going to have us both up for psych evals.”

“Rightfully so,” Morgan agreed with a small smile.

“He’s going to give us a few personal days to get the boys taken care of but he wants us back in Quantico by Wednesday.”

“No sweat,” Dean mumbled, resting a forearm across his eyes.  “We’ll have this thing down by tomorrow night.”

“Dean, that’s not going to happen,” Gideon argued.  “Not this trip.”

“Why not?” 

“Because we’re _all_ ragged out, man,” Morgan said.  “Nobody is in prime monster fighting condition here.”

 “I get that.  We rest tonight, we take it out tomorrow.”

 “We already had this conversation.  Neither of you are up to it,” Morgan insisted.  “You would really leave it to a couple of rookies?”

 “It’s not like it’s a demon or a vamp or anything, you know, _ridiculously_ dangerous.  It‘s not going to rip your hearts out or suck your blood or eat you.  As far as we know,” Dean added while Sam shrugged and nodded.  “We‘ll be right there with you.”

 “That’s comforting,” Morgan scoffed, gesturing to the two of them sharing a hospital bed.

 “Why don’t we give you two a couple months to heal up then we’ll come back and take care of it together,” Gideon suggested.

 “No.  Hell no.”  Dean sat up to protest and his face grew pale.  “This thing doesn’t skate again because I’m gimped up.  I let it go last time because I...  I didn‘t...” Dean growled in frustration because he couldn’t get the words out.  “Shit, I can’t even say it.”

Sam sat up too, putting a hand on his brother‘s back.  “Dean, we tracked it for three days.  You were a machine out there.”

Dean tried to shrug away.  “Yeah, but I couldn’t get close enough to seal the deal and you were too busy looking out for me.  A twenty-four-hour clock is counting down on this son of a bitch starting now.”

“Why the urgency?”  Gideon asked, leaning in earnestly. 

“Two more civilians are dead because of me.”  Dean flopped back against the bed and lay there looking at the ceiling miserably.  He held up a finger to hold off comments then took a second to collect his thoughts.  “It was throwing these big ass fire balls at my head.  I couldn‘t handle it.  I probably still can‘t, but it‘s killing people and we can‘t wait until I‘m better.  I may not get better,” he admitted in a small voice. 

Morgan and Gideon shared a long solemn look then Morgan gestured for Gideon to take the ball.

“Okay,” Gideon said.  “We’re listening.  What are we dealing with?”

“It’s a freakin’ _fire starter_ ,” Dean spat out, frustrated and humiliated. 

“ _The_ firestarter,” Sam corrected gently, eyeing his brother surreptitiously.  “As far as we know there’s only ever been one.”

“Look, vampires, we get,” Morgan explained.  “Ghosts, we get.  There is a ton of information floating around out there...”

“Bogus information,” Dean interrupted.

“Nevertheless, this thing,” Morgan continued calmly, taking a move from Gideon’s reasonable-in-the-face-of-insanity play book, “We’ve never even heard of a ‘firestarter’ before this.”

“It’s a local legend, a lot like the Jersey Devil or the Lizard Man of South Carolina,” Sam began when Dean clammed up, pointedly closing his eyes again and crossing his arms over his chest.

Gideon leaned in, resting his chin on a hand in rapt attention.  “This is some sort of creature.”

“Near as we can tell it began with a curse.”

“A curse.”  Morgan put up an appeasing hand when Dean lifted his head to glare at him.  “You mean like an ancient Indian curse?”

“Something like that,” Sam granted.  “We think this one is medieval, possibly Eastern European.”

“In contemporary Colorado.  That makes no sense.”

“Tell ‘em the story,” Dean suggested as he settled back, arms still firmly crossed.

“According to our research there was a family traveling across the Rockies in the mid 1870’s when they got sick.  They ended up in a mining town near here called Rayburn where the parents and all but one of the children died.”

Gideon pulled out his trusty map as he continued to listen.

“One tween daughter named Esther survived but was too sickly to travel.  People of the town sent word back East to her mother‘s father, a Slavic immigrant who lived in New York.”

“That took a long time back then,” Dean said, unable to stay out of it.

“Months,” Sam agreed.  “And then months more for the grandfather to arrive.  In the meantime, the owner of the mine, Hershel Rayburn, a confirmed bachelor, took little Esther in.  Except he kept her locked up in his big house away from everybody, you know, for her own protection in the wild west mining town.”

Morgan frowned.  “I’m not liking the sound of that.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a disgusted snort.

“Anyway, after a long, hard winter Grandpa arrived the next summer to find Esther heavy with child.  The story the girl told amounted to sexual slavery, but Hershel insisted it was just once and it was consensual.”

“Get this,” Dean broke in, now caught up in the story and mad as hell all over again, “He said his firewood got wet and he was just trying to keep her warm when one thing led to another.”

“Long story short,” Sam continued, “There was a trial but since Hershel owned everything in the town including the silver mine, and paid everybody’s salary, including the sheriff’s, he was found innocent and let off scott-free.”

“And the girl?”  Gideon asked.

“She was labeled a loose woman, shunned by the upstanding people of Rayburn, and eventually died in child birth,” Sam said sadly.  “But that wasn’t the end of it.  Grandpa came from a long line of, let’s just say people with ‘abilities’.  The story goes he put a hex on Hershel in the street in front of his house the day Esther died.  From that moment on everything Hershel laid a hand on burst into flames.”

“So this thing is human?” Gideon asked in surprise.

“It used to be,” Sam agreed.  “Who knows what it is now.”

“I can’t find Rayburn on the map,” Gideon said, folding it and stuffing it back in his pocket.

“It’s not there anymore.  It used to be nestled along Brower‘s Ridge before it burned down.  The day _after_ Esther died.”

“Brower’s Ridge,” Gideon echoed.

“The whole town went up in smoke,” Dean said with a satisfied smile.  “Along with all the sanctimonious ass holes who lived there.  Unable to die because of the curse, and unable to live in a house, or handle money, or clothes, or food Hershel wandered off into the woods and into legend.”

“Okay, nice tale.  But how do you know all this stuff if it happened in the 1870‘s?“

“We’ve been researching this thing off and on for a long time,“ Dean said.

“A _really_ long time,” Sam agreed.  “We’ve interviewed descendants of the people of Rayburn, we’re read transcripts of the trial, there was even an account in a St. Louis newspaper when there were bad forest fires around here in 1877.  I can show you the article.”

“I’d love to read it later,” Gideon remarked before they all got quiet for a minute.

“What does this thing look like?”  Morgan finally asked.

“Uh, picture a naked, hundred and fifty-year-old guy who’s been in about a thousand too many fires?”  Sam suggested. 

Dean pursed his lips and nodded.  “He’s fugly.  Plus, he likes to pick up rocks and chunk ‘em at you.  Bastard.”

“That’s where the fire balls come from,” Morgan reasoned.

“Yeah, most things burn to ashes pretty quick, but the rocks take a little longer.”

“Long enough to burn off your eyebrows if they get too close,” Dean said with an obnoxious sneer in his brother‘s direction.

“Shut up.”

“Alright.  How do we kill it?”  Morgan asked before the squabble got out of hand.

“We don’t know, exactly,” Sam hedged.  “We’re not sure if it’s even possible.  Most of those old curses are permanent, some of them even pass from one generation to the next.”

“So what do we do?”

“Cut off it’s hands?” Dean suggested.  “At least that’s where we thought we’d start.”

“We do have some incantations we can try.”

“Brower’s Ridge,” Gideon snapped his fingers and turned to Morgan.  “Where have we heard that name recently?”

“Two dead campers,” Morgan remembered.  “JJ got a request for help on it just last week, but they retracted it for some reason.”

Gideon shook his head excitedly.  “Yes, two co-eds died in a suspicious fire.”

“That’s our case,” Sam said.  “That’s how we knew Hershel was out of the mine.  It seems he still can‘t keep his hands off little girls.”

“Could have been a coincidence.”

“Well, in our experience,” Sam said, “There’s no such thing as coincidences.”

“We gotta stop him before anyone else dies,” Dean pled his case one last time.  “It‘s what we do, but it‘s what you guys do, too.  We riled him up and he‘s probably out there right now looking for his next victim.”

“I’m in,” Morgan agreed without further discussion.

“We rest tonight,” Gideon restated, checking his watch.  “We’ll take it down tomorrow.”

***

Dean closed his eyes and leaned against the cool brick wall by the ambulance entrance as the sun was coming up.  Morgan and Gideon weren’t back yet from whatever motel they’d found, and Sam was still sleeping.  Dean had woken with a start instead of screams but it was enough to make him want a little fresh air. 

“Where you off to, kid?”

Dean sighed as he recognized the voice and cracked an eye open.  “Hey, looky there, it’s Doctor Paj... doe,” he broke the name on the lab coat down phonetically.  “You must be coming off the night shift.”

“It’s Pay-dough, like play dough,” she corrected, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the wall next to him.  “The J is silent.”

Just the sound of the lighter set his nerves on edge.  Unwilling to look at the flame, Dean turned away and pretended to cough.  “That shit’ll kill you,” he warned.

“Don’t I know it,” Doctor Pajdo agreed, taking in a lungful of smoke and blowing it out slowly.  “That‘s the stuff.”

“I didn’t stab my brother,” Dean set the record straight.

“I know,” she said again between drags.  “The finger marks on his neck were way too small for your hands.  Definitely female.  Had to be something strong, though, but not with claws.  Demon.  Vampire, maybe.  Any number of things actually.”

Dean felt his mouth drop open but as he turned to stare all he could focus on was the glowing tip of her cigarette.  The next thing he knew she was assisting him to a sitting position and calling out for help.

“Shh,” Dean cautioned, clamping a hand over her mouth until she stopped yelling.  “Put that damn thing out,” he added, covering his eyes against the abandoned cigarette on the ground.

“Shesh.  That’s a big reaction to a little fire,” she remarked as she picked up the cigarette and rubbed it against the ground until it was nothing but a crumpled filter and a streak of black ash. 

“Yeah, well, I‘ve been to Hell and back,”  Dean told her after he swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Believe it or not, I‘m getting better.” 

“Tough break,” the doctor commiserated, stashing the filter in an outside pocket on her big black leather bag.  “Pyrophobia is a bad trait for a hunter.”

Dean gaped at her.  “Who _are_ you?” 

“It took me a while but I finally placed you,“ Doctor Pajdo said with a fond little smile.  “You boys played in my garden while I talked with your father some years ago.  You were a cute little thing, you and Sammy both.  Boy did that kid hit a growth spurt.”

“We’ve never been here before,” Dean denied.

“Not here.  Leadville, where I grew up.  I’ve only been here a few years since I remarried.  Third times a charm.”

“Pajdo,” Dean said the name as he started putting two and two together. 

“My maiden name.  It‘s a professional thing.”

“That wouldn’t be Slavic, would it?”

“Polish in fact.”

“Are there a lot of Polish settlers in this part of Colorado?”

“Not really.  But your father found most of us.  Smart man that John,” she stopped and eyed Dean sympathetically.  “I’m guessing by the look on your face he’s no longer with us?”

“No, he‘s... yeah.  So why’d you call the cops on us?” Dean demanded suddenly as much to change the subject as to find out why.

“First of all, it’s the law for a fracas.  Secondly, I needed to be sure, and I couldn’t have you skipping out on me in the middle of the night.  I’ve got something for you, I just had to find it.” 

She dug in her bag and came out with a very old journal with twine through the binding to keep the pages together.  “This belonged to my great, great grandfather.  I think you’ll find it useful, if you can read Polish.  I can‘t.”

“Esther’s grandfather?”

“He stuck around.  I guess he felt responsible for creating a monster.  He remarried and started a new family at the ripe old age of fifty-four.  You men can do that, you know.”

Dean ran his hand over the old book.  “Thank you, Doctor Pajdo.”

She smiled again and patted his hand.  “You can call me Esther.  It's an old family name.”

Dean met her eyes and saw complete comprehension of the situation.  “Huh.”

“I come from a long line of people with certain... abilities,” she told him wryly, tucking a business card into his shirt pocket.

 “Do you know how to kill this thing?” Dean asked.

 “No, sorry.  But if you need a wart wished away, I’m your girl.”

 ***

 Reid paced behind Garcia’s chair looking over the freshly e-mailed documents while she and Dean made long distance googly eyes at each other.  Sitting next to Dean on the side of Sam’s hospital bed Gideon didn’t quite roll his eyes at the blatant flirting.  Morgan watched the spectacle from across the room.

 “Polish is a language of the Lechitic subgroup of West Slavic languages used throughout Poland which is one of the most linguistically homogeneous European countries,” Reid began to lecture.  “In fact, nearly 97% of Poland’s citizens declare Polish as their mother tongue.”

 “Sounds dirty,” Dean said with wink to Garcia who tittered and fanned herself.

 ‘Bad boy,’ she mouthed to him so as not to interrupt Reid on a roll.

 “In the US Americans of Polish ancestry number more than 11 million, most living in Illinois, New York, and New Jersey, but few of them actually speak their native language fluently.  According to the 2000 Census only 667,414 Americans age 5 and over speak Polish at home which is about 1.4% of people who...”

“Reid,” Gideon cut in gently, “We’re more concerned with the written language.”

“Right, sorry.  The Polish alphabet derives from Latin script, but includes certain additional letters formed using diacritics.  It was one of two major forms of Latin-based orthography developed for Slavic languages, the other being Czech...”

“Reid!”  Morgan shouted, leaning over Dean‘s shoulder so he could be seen on the monitor.

Reid stopped pacing and blinked.  “Yes?”

“Can you read Polish or not?”

“Of course not.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I mean, I‘m sure I could over a course of weeks...”

“We don’t have weeks, Dude,” Dean said.  “We have hours.”

“Yes, I know, but the point I was trying to make...”

“Can you find someone to translate those documents for us tonight?”  Sam leaned in as well to ask.  “Hi, Sunny,” he added shyly.

“Hi, Sam.”  Garcia tried to smile but it was obviously forced.

“Awkward,” Dean mumbled as Sam self-consciously waved and leaned back out of the frame.

“We need them as soon as possible,” Gideon pressed.

“I’m sure I can find someone to translate,” Reid assured.  “I can drop these off and hop on the next flight to Denver, counting time zones crossed, I can be in Johnstown in a little over... 9 hours...”

“Me, too!”  Garcia broke in.

“By the time we get there the translations should be done.”

“Hopefully by the time you get here we’ll be done,” Dean told them.  “So no.  We‘d love to see you, but no, we need you on that end.  Both of you.”

“Oh.  All right,” Garcia gave in.  “I know you’ll catch this guy,”

“You bet we will _catch this guy_ ,” Dean said with a big fake smile, giving Reid a stern look when Garcia looked away.

Reid nodded unhappily but mimed locking his lip.

“We’ll talk soon,” Gideon said, ending the video conference as he closed Sam‘s laptop.

“So where do we start?”  Morgan asked.

“The last place we know Hershel’s been,” Sam decided as he swung his feet out of the bed.  “Brower’s Ridge.”

“Okay,” Gideon said.  “The nurse said it’ll be about an hour until they can get the paperwork ready.  Then someone will be in to discharge you both, even though Dean hasn‘t actually been in his own room for more than fifteen minutes.”

“Good thing I already got our walking papers,” Dean declared, digging out a stack of folded papers from his pocket.

“Well if he’s not going to keep his IV then Sam is going to need some oral antibiotics...” Gideon began but trailed off as Dean shook a bottle of pills like a maraca before tossing them to Sam who snagged them in mid-flight.

“I have friends in high places,” Dean said with a smug grin.

“I thought you didn’t like doctors,” Sam remarked as he peeled away the tape and plucked out his own IV, clamping a thumb down on the hole.

“This one grows on you.”  Dean grabbed the clothes and shoes out of the closet and tossed them on the bed.  “Chop, chop, time’s a wastin’.”

“You get the car, I’ll bring the boys,” Gideon told Morgan in resignation.  “Meet us by the ambulance entrance.”

“The Impala, not the SUV,” Dean insisted, handing over the keys he‘d already confiscated from Gideon.  “We don’t know what kind of fire power we’re gonna need.”

“We’re going to a crime scene,” Gideon argued.  “We don’t know if it’s still active or not.”

“So?”

“So while the Impala is a lovely vehicle, really it is,” Gideon beat around the bush trying not to insult Dean‘s pride and joy.

“It doesn’t scream ‘ _FBI’_ ,” Morgan finished for him, trying to hand the keys back.

“You’d be surprised,” Dean told him.  He crammed his hands into his pockets, not budging.

“We’ll take them both and stash the Impala somewhere close,” Sam made the compromise as he started to get dressed.

Morgan rattled the keys in surrender on his way out.

“I guess I’ll go find a wheelchair,” Gideon volunteered as he ducked out into the hall.

“You gonna be alright?” Dean asked when the door closed behind Gideon.  He reached into the closet and pulled out the crutches he had stashed there earlier, they were already adjusted to the maximum length.

“I’m fine,” Sam declared.  “But those are too short.”

 “Dude, they don’t make ‘em Sasquatch size.  You already know that.”  He leaned one against the bed a shoved the other back in the closet.

“Hey, a guy can dream, right?”  Sam really looked at his brother as he fumbled to button his shirt. The splint on his hand slowed him down so he stopped to take it off.  “You okay?”

“Never better,” Dean lied, jumping it to help remove Sam’s unwanted hardware.

***

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Morgan said when they pulled up to the crime scene to find a Sherriff’s vehicle still on site. 

“It’s been more than a week,” Gideon mused.  “That’s a long time to hold an outdoor scene.”

 “All right, you two wait here,” Morgan decided, stepping out of the SUV and watching as a deputy got out of the squad car and started walking their way.  “We’ll see what we can do to get you in.”

 Gideon paused when he opened his door and turned to the boys.  “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.”  He got out and trotted a few steps to catch up with Morgan.

 “Deputy,” Morgan greeted pausing at the sectioned off trailhead as he and Gideon flashed their badges.

 “I heard the FBI was in town,” the deputy told them, lifting the yellow tape for them to duck under.  “We were just about to close up shop here but the Sheriff wanted you to be able to look around.  He wants you to check in at the station when you‘re done, though.  He‘s kinda pissed.”

 “Yeah, sorry about that,” Morgan explained.  “We had other issues.”

 “Heard that, too.  What really happened?  Off duty bar fight?”

 Morgan grinned and pointed a finger at the deputy but didn’t really confirm or deny anything.

 “Feds,” the deputy said with a laugh, shaking his head.  “Bunch a pussies,” he teased.  “Naw, just kidding.  Good to know you guys can let your hair down.”

 “You held the scene for us?”  Gideon blinked at him and changed the subject.

 “Yes, sir,” the deputy sobered respectfully.

 “Thank you, that was very thoughtful,” Sam’s voice came from behind.  They turned to find Dean flashing an FBI ID as he ducked under the tape and headed for the top of the ridge.  Sam had clipped his ID to his jacket since one hand was operating the single crutch and the other was held protectively to his chest.  “Thank you,” he told the deputy again as the guy helped him maneuver under the tape.

 “You sure you wanna go up there?” the deputy asked Sam.  “It’s quite a climb.”

 “I’m good,” Sam assured as he started picking his way up the trail.  The deputy nodded and went up after Dean.

 Morgan frowned as he looked to Gideon, but Gideon began to chuckle.  “They are resourceful,” Gideon declared with ill-disguised glee.

 “That’s a nice ID,” Morgan commented quietly to Sam when he caught up with him a few seconds later.  He pulled the tag off for a closer look.  “It certainly looks real.”

 “We got a guy,” Sam explained as Morgan clipped it back in place.

 Morgan harrumphed and sped up to try and catch Dean, who was moving at an excellent clip for a man with a concussion.

 “Are you okay,” Gideon asked, coming up on Sam’s other side on the rough terrain. 

 “I’m a little stiff and the stitches feel tight, but I’m good,” Sam assured.  “Dean’s the problem.”

 “I know.  I think it’s time for a long overdue chat.”

 Sam nodded and Gideon fell into line behind him as the path narrowed and the real climb began. 

***

 Morgan reached the top the same time as the deputy.  The ridge flattened out for a quarter of a mile before it dropped away as a rocky cliff that fell several hundred feet to the valley below.  They found Dean in the burnt out clearing down on one knee touching a spot on the ground. 

 “The fire started here,” Dean told them without looking up, indicating a darker ring about six foot in circumference that was scorched down to the topsoil. 

 “You guys are in great shape,” the only slightly pudgy deputy exclaimed as he bent to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath.

 “I run,” Dean told him offhandedly, still studying the ground. 

 Morgan looked around and frowned in disagreement when he spotted what was left of a metal tent frame, blackened bushes, and other assorted debris.  “The campsite was way over there, closer to the cliff.”

 “Yeah, but there’s no vegetation left here at all, not so much as a burned twig in this circle.”

 “But both bodies were found inside the tent over there, right?”  Morgan asked the deputy.

 “Yes sir,” the deputy affirmed as he straightened up.  “The fire investigator’s report came out yesterday.  He said the fire started because the victims left a poorly controlled campfire burning too close to their gear.  They never even made it out of the tent.”

 “See,” Morgan said to Dean.  “Coincidence.”

 “But,” the deputy continued, “Someone else started a back-burn right about here with an unknown accelerant, something that cooked off without leaving a trace.  The chief said if the fuel hadn‘t been burned out of this natural fire break the whole ridge would have gone up.”

 “And this fire burned towards the cliff?” Morgan tried to make sense of the information.  “Saved the woods.”

 “Yes, sir.  Who knows how big this thing would have got.  But nobody‘s come forward yet.  We figure it might have been a poacher or someone else doing something illegal who didn‘t want to show up on our radar.”

 “Yeah,” Dean muttered, suddenly moving to the center of the circle and placing a hand flat on the ground.

 “I know, right?” the deputy said, looking a little spooked as he glanced around.  “Nobody wanted to acknowledge that.  The dirt itself is burnt to ash a quarter inch deep in that spot.”

 “You ever heard of the firestarter?” Dean asked, much to Morgan‘s surprise.

 The deputy shifted his weight and swallowed, pointedly not looking at Dean.  “That’s just a myth,” he denied.  “Right?”

 “We’ve got it from here, Deputy,” Dean told him.  “You can head out.”

 “No problem,”  the deputy agreed readily, still looking around.  “Do you mind if I pull up the tape?”

 “Go ahead,” Sam told him, only slightly out of breath as he and Gideon finally caught up.

 “Don’t forget to go by the station,” the deputy reminded them as he started back down.

 Gideon tried to speak but couldn’t get anything out just yet.  Instead he pointed to where Dean was crouched.

 “What have you got?” Sam asked for him.

 Dean lifted his hand to show a perfect print of a slightly smaller hand underneath.  A stiff breeze carried away the remaining ash leaving the shallow indentation in stark contrast to the ground around it.

 “Talk to me about coincidence,” Dean said, looking at Morgan as he stood and wiped his hand on his jeans, merely spreading the black residue around.

 “So?  We already knew Hershel was here,” Sam pointed out.

 “I don’t know.”  Dean looked towards the campsite and then back at the woods.  “The girls deaths were accidental.  They didn‘t put out their fire before bunking down.  _This_ fire was started to stop _that_ fire from destroying the whole damn place.”

 “Why would he do that?” Gideon was finally able to ask.

 “It’s his home?” Morgan guessed.

 “No,”  Dean disagreed, shaking his head.  “This thing would burn down the world if it wouldn’t burn him along with it.  He was far enough away from the flaming tent that he would have had time to get off the ridge.  The fire he started, not so much.”

 “Isn’t he, I don’t know, immune to the fire or something?” Morgan asked.

 “We don’t think so,” Sam explained.  “That’s part of the curse.  He feels the pain when he gets caught up in the flames.  That’s probably the only thing that’s kept him from torching everything in his path for the last hundred or so years.”

 “Fireballs aside,” Dean added, “We think most of the fires he’s caused have been accidental except for a handful of murders through the years.”

 “Yeah, he really doesn’t like people.”

 “You don’t think this was him,” Morgan accused Dean. 

 “You’re the profiler.” Dean challenged.  “How often does a leopard change it’s spots?”

 “Maybe there are more than one of these creatures,”  Gideon reasoned.  “You said some of these curses extend to the next generation.”

 Sam frowned and shook his head.  “Hershel never had any kids.”

 “That’s not true,” Gideon said.  He took a seat on the flat outcrop of rock that formed the back wall of the firebreak.  Dean leaned against it as well.  “We know he had at least one child.  What happened to Esther‘s baby?”

 “Uh, didn’t they always lose the babies too when the mothers died in child birth back in the day?”

 “Not necessarily.  I‘m sure there would have been some logistical issues, especially before the development of powdered baby formula, but it probably depended on how and why the mother died.”

 “I’ll see how far Reid is on the translation,” Morgan volunteered as he pulled out his phone.

 “You got your source, I got mine.”  Dean took the card out of his pocket and dialed the number.  “Hey, it’s Dean.  I got a question for you.  What happened to Esther’s baby?”  He looked up at them in surprise.  “Uh huh...  Uh huh...  No kidding.  Okay, thanks.”  He hung up and pocketed his phone.  “You’re not going to believe this.”

 “Grandpa found a wet nurse?” Sam guessed.

 “Yep.  He ended up marrying her and raising Esther’s son, Joseph, as his own.”

 “If the curse is hereditary then there could be a whole bunch of these things out here.”  Morgan crossed his arms over his chest and scanned the edge of the woods carefully.

 “Well if Grandpa had more kids they were the curs _er’s_ descendants not the curs _ee_ ‘s,” Sam explained.  “But Joseph was Hershel‘s biological son even if Gramps raised him.  Of course, if _he_ had kids...” Sam trailed off and looked to Dean.

 “No, Joseph was always a little... simple.  Doc Pajdo said it was probably a birth injury.  He never married or had kids so the curse had to stop with him.  He _supposedly_ died in a fire when his boarding house burned down, get this, on his twenty-first birthday.”

“Wow,” Sam said, leaning to the side and letting the crutch take some of his weight as he digested the information.  “That’s significant.”

“How so?” Gideon asked.

“Twenty-one is the weight of a soul in grams, at least according to Duncan MacDougal,” Sam began.

“What?”  Morgan scoffed.  “That’s ridiculous.  You can‘t weigh a soul.”

“It’s also the sum of the first six natural numbers,” Sam continued without scorn.

“Or the number of dots on a dice,” Dean pointed out.

“Die,” Morgan corrected.

“You die,” Dean shot back irritably.

“It’s a semiprime with both it’s prime factors being Gaussian primes, a Fibonacci number, a Harshad number, a Motzkin number, a triangular number, and an octagonal number...”

“Plus, it shows up a lot in the occult,” Dean interrupted to stop the flow of words.  “Oh, my head.  See?  I’ve got one, too,” he told Morgan as an aside.

“It’s also the age of majority in many cultures,” Gideon added.

“ _How so?_ my ass,” Dean said.  “I think you hit the nail on the head, Jason.  The day Joseph became a man he also became a firestarter.”

“Maybe Hershel is still in the mine,” Sam suggested.  “He’s the real problem here.  There‘s no need to hunt down Joseph if he‘s benign.”

“A monster’s a monster,” Dean countered.  “I say we take ‘em both down.”

“This was just an unfortunate accident,” Sam argued.  “If not for this we wouldn’t even know about Joseph.  I don‘t see wasting the time and energy to hunt him.”

Gideon nodded his agreement.  “At this point it’s all supposition anyway.  The only way to find out if Hershel is still in the mine is to go to the mine.”

“What’s our next step?” Morgan asked.  “Comb the woods?  Or go check the mine?”

“Both,” Sam and Dean said at the same time.

“Stay or go?” Dean asked.  He positioned his hands for rock, paper, scissors but Sam waved him off.

“I’ll take Morgan to the mine,” Sam said.  “You and Gideon can have a good look around up here.”

“You sure?  You gotta climb back down the mountain,” Dean reminded him.

“I’ll have to do it sooner or later in any case,” Sam responded, already turning to go.  “I’d rather do it before my arm wears out.”

***

Dean found a long, sturdy stick and used it to lean on as he and Gideon climbed the small rock facing that separated the clearing from the woods.  They hiked for a ways, each watching for anything out of the ordinary, making a large loop into the forest and back out.  Steady but thorough, they were only able to scratch the surface of the vast wilderness.  They finally returned to their starting point and settled on the rocks to rest.

“You okay?” Gideon asked when he saw Dean rub his head wearily.

“Haven’t had that beer and aspirin yet,” Dean mumbled, accepting the bottle of water Gideon produced from his pocket.  He took a swig and handed it back before tilting his head to catch the afternoon sun on his face.  He closed his eyes and appeared to be napping while sitting up even though Gideon knew perfectly well he was not only awake but alert to their surroundings as well.

“Now would be good time to talk,” Gideon began when the silence dragged on.

“Jason, stay out of my head,” Dean warned lightly without looking at him.

“You called me.”

“We figured we owed you that much,” Dean shrugged and opened his eyes.  “Besides, we knew Reid or Morgan would tag along.”

“So?”

“So maybe we missed you guys,” Dean said before backpedaling from the statement.  “Not much.  A little.”

Gideon smiled and nodded and let it go.  For almost a minute.  He took a drink then capped the bottle.  “We’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later.  Better sooner, don‘t you think?”

Dean turned the stick slowly between his hands and watched it twist in the singed brush on the ground below.  “Talk about what?”

“Hell.”

Dean didn‘t protest right away.  “Not the venue, man,” he finally said quietly.

“No?” Gideon persisted in the same soft tone.  The lack of resistance fanned the ever-present kernel of worry deep in his gut that concerned all things Dean.

“Not in the middle of a hunt,” Dean said more firmly.

Better, Gideon thought.  “When, then?”

Dean let out a frustrated growl.  “Let’s see, I’ll pencil you in next February on the 30th.  How’s that?”  He pushed the stick away and let it fall to the scorched earth a few inches beneath his feet with a sulk.

“You can’t keep pushing this down, Dean,” Gideon told him, feeling considerably better by the minor fit of pique.  “You can only stuff your feelings so deep before you start to choke on them.”

“I’m getting better,” Dean protested.

Gideon knew which button to push.  “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for your brother.  He depends on you, you know.”

Dean grabbed his Zippo out of his pocket and opened the top with a practiced flip of his wrist.  He struck the flint and held it out to Gideon as proof.  He clenched his jaw so tight Gideon feared for his teeth and he pointedly did not look at the tiny flame.

“Good, Dean.  You’re doing great,” Gideon encouraged, moving closer until settling within arm’s reach.  “Now, just say the words.  Let it out.  You‘ll feel so much better when you let that poison out.”

“Hell was hell,” Dean began in clipped, precise sentences.  “I don’t know how to put it any clearer.”  He waited but Gideon said nothing so he took a breath and continued.  “It was horror, and fear, and pain at such overwhelming, earth shattering... there _are_ no words, Jason.  I couldn’t describe it if I wanted to.” 

Gideon watched as Dean swallowed compulsively before holding his breath.  His hand started to quiver as he held the lighter even tighter and slowly turned his eyes to it.  He seemed spellbound by the spark but not devastated by it, still, the effort was palpable. 

As vulnerable as he had ever seen him, Gideon pressed on before Dean‘s walls went back up, but he felt like a bastard for doing it.  “So you do remember?”

Dean snapped the lid closed with the same wrist flip and gulped in air as he dropped his hand.  If the metal was hot he didn‘t show it.  “Not... no.  Not like real memories.  I get flashes.”  Dean released a huge sigh, as if putting that much into words was a monumental endeavor.  He seemed relieved.

“Flashes of what?”

“I don’t know what to call it.  Emotion, I guess.  Dread.  Sorrow.  Panic.  And fire.  Always fire.”

Gideon knotted his brow but nodded encouragingly.  “You just described fire as an emotion,” he stated.

“It is,” Dean insisted, his voice breaking and his eyes welling up.  “At least it is now.”  Again, he clenched his jaw with such Herculean effort to keep from crying Gideon’s heart broke for him.

Gideon scooted a little closer until they were shoulder to shoulder.  He patted Dean’s back, then rubbed in little circles.  When Dean didn’t pull away he rested his arm across Dean’s shoulders, drawing him closer.  Much to his surprise, Dean leaned into him.  This frightened Gideon more than any passivity on Dean‘s part.

“You know the worst part?” Dean asked without further encouragement. 

“No.  What’s the worst part?”

“It affects my job.”  Dean huffed a little laugh.  “Can you believe _that‘s_ what bothers me?”

He could believe it, of course.  With Dean everything came down to his life’s work.  Not sure which way Dean was headed though, he gave a noncommittal grunt in answer. 

“I used to be a bad ass mother fucker and now I’m a freaking pussy.”

“You’re not a pussy, Dean,” Gideon told him sincerely.  “Far from it.”

Dean paused for a second in apparent disbelief then burst out laughing.  He laughed until he had to wipe away tears.

“What?” Gideon asked, chuckling a little himself.

“You said pussy.”  Dean plucked the water bottle from Gideon’s other hand and took off the lid for another drink.

“I did. “ Gideon nodded and smiled and kissed him gently on the forehead.  He timed his next statement as Dean took a drink for no other reason than he knew Dean would ultimately get a kick out of it.  “It’s a good thing I didn’t tell you you’re still a bad ass mother fucker.”

As predicted, Dean did a spit take, barely managing to save what was left in the bottle.  They both guffawed, laughing long and hard.  The laughter seemed to lighten Dean’s load a little, if only for the moment.  But to Gideon it was like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. 

Dean sat up straighter and rubbed his runny nose on his own sleeve.  “Dude.  Warn me before you bust out with things like that,” he finally managed.  They chortled a few seconds more and then Dean grew solemn again, but he still didn’t pull completely away. 

“How do I get over this?” Dean whispered.  “Could you hypnotize me?  Would that even work?”

“I think that might be dangerous in this situation,” Gideon told him, lowering his own voice to match Dean’s.  “I think this trauma probably runs too deep for that.  You’re a unique individual, Dean, I doubt very many souls have come out on the other side of Hell.”

“So I’m doomed to be a coward for the rest of my life,” Dean dropped his head in defeat.  “I might as well take up bird watching.  Or knitting.”

 “No, no,” Gideon hedged, “There’s no quick fix for this, but talking about it will help more than you think.  I truly believe facing that yes, this did happen, and opening up about it is our best recourse.”

 “ _Our_ best recourse?  You know I can’t go to a therapist.  They won’t believe me and I’ll end up in the loony bin for sure.”

 “True,” Gideon admitted.  “But you have me.  And you have Reid and Morgan, and most importantly, you have your brother who wants to help you so very badly.”

 Dean drained the water and crushed the empty bottle which he tucked into his jacket pocket as he seemed to mull over the conversation.

 “Look there.” Gideon pointed to a tiny sprig of green growing in a crevice of the fire baked rock.  “This land is scarred, but a month from now there will be wildflowers popping up everywhere.  In another month they’ll be blooming.  Mother Nature is a plucky old broad.”

“You’re not a coward, Dean,” Gideon continued more directly when Dean still didn‘t answer. “Courage is not being unafraid.  Courage is being scared and doing what needs to be done anyway.  And you are as courageous a man as I‘ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

Dean seemed to be listening but looked away and sighed.  “You’re not gonna kiss me again, are you?” he asked after a while, trying to hide a grin.

“You mean now?  Or ever?” Gideon asked, dropping his arm from Dean‘s shoulder but not moving away.  “And don’t knock birdwatching until you’ve tried it.”

“Sure,” Dean said just as his phone rang.  He cleared his throat before he answered it.  “Yeah, Sammy,” he greeted sounding completely normal.  “What ‘cha got?  Really?  So this whole thing is a bust.  Nah, we got nothin’ but a whole lotta woods and some future wildflowers.  Okay, later.”

“What did they find?”  Gideon asked as Dean put away his phone.

“A caved in mine shaft, tight as a drum.  Hershel didn’t get out.”

“And since Joseph isn’t a threat...”

“Our work here is done, Grasshopper,” Dean proclaimed as he got up, using Gideon’s shoulder for support.  “Sorry, Jason, I guess this was a wasted trip.  I know you wanted a real hunt.”

“Not wasted at all,” Gideon disputed as he climbed to his feet as well.  “If we hadn’t come you two would be holed up in that drafty old cabin with life threatening injuries.

Dean shrugged as he looked around the ground.  “That’s the life of a hunter.”

“Sounds more like the death of a hunter to me,” Gideon sniffed.

“Where’s my damn stick?  Oh, there it is.”  Dean stood unsteadily as he scouted the easiest way down but Gideon put a hand to his chest.

“I’ll get it,” Gideon volunteered then carefully made his way down to the flat ground below. 

“I could have done it,” Dean assured him, making no move to prove it.

Retrieving the branch Gideon froze as he started to straighten, staring directly into the dull blue eyes of a creature huddled next to the rock face not four feet away.  It was the size and shape of a small, almost skeletal man but it‘s leathery, blackened skin blended perfectly with the scorched boulders.  If not for the eyes Gideon would never have even seen it.  Him.  Neither of them moved an inch as the bizarre standoff stretched on seemingly forever.

“You throw your back out, old man?”  Dean asked after the longest thirty seconds of Gideon’s life.

Gideon found he couldn’t make a sound as terror battled wonder and disbelief for top billing on the unexpected emotional roller coaster.  His mind moved at a startling pace even as his body locked up and he realized how right Dean’s assessment of his probable performance in a hunt had been.

“Run!”  Dean shouted suddenly, no doubt seeing what Gideon saw, making it so much more real.  “Get back,” Dean ordered again, more gruffly.

Before Gideon could actually move the ancient stare was blocked from his view by a denim covered rear end.  The thunder of boots hitting the ground echoed across the valley far below and black dust rose up around Dean like a cloak before being picked up by the wind and spirited away.

As the spell was broken Gideon‘s muscles finally reacted as his brain requested.  He scrambled backwards, tripping over the other end of the very stick he’d gone to fetch and landed squarely on his own rear a few steps away. 

Meanwhile Dean had gone to his knees, still facing the creature and Gideon realized what the jarring landing must have cost him physically.  Dean fumbled the knife he’d apparently drawn as he jumped and fell even further, bracing himself with a hand on the ash covered ground in front of him. 

Even on his knees, Dean swayed unsteadily.  “It’s okay,” he said.  Until Gideon saw the placating gesture out to Joseph he’d thought Dean was talking to him.  “Don’t hurt him,” Dean pleaded.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  Just don‘t... touch anything.”

Now that he could focus on something besides Joseph’s harrowing gaze Gideon took in the frightened posture and carefully open hands. 

“You’re scared, I know.  Me, too,” Dean continued in the most compassionate tone Gideon had ever heard from him.  “We’re gonna try to help you, okay?  I know what you’re going through.  I‘ve been there.  You probably don‘t believe that, but it‘s true.”

“We could just walk away,” Gideon offered huskily, overcome with the moment, surprised to find his voice at all.  “We should let him be.”

“No,” Dean objected.  “He didn’t do anything wrong.  That monster in the mine deserves what he’s getting, but this guy...  This is his own personal Hell, if we can end it we’re going to.”

“Can we?”  Gideon asked.  He was shocked by the revelation.  He’d only thought of hunting in the sense of destroying something evil, he hadn’t given any thought to the release of a tortured soul.  His admiration for the boys’ work swelled even more.

Dean shrugged.  “We’ve got some incantations we can try and a couple of general, all-purpose curse busters.  We’ll keep at it until something works.  Okay?” he asked, but the last was aimed at Joseph.

Much to Gideon’s amazement Joseph nodded his consent.

***

“What are we going to do with all this crap?” Morgan asked, keeping the SUV close to the speed limit.  Getting pulled over would just slow them down.

“We don’t know what, if anything, is going to work,” Sam explained patiently, leaving Morgan to ponder the differences in the brothers.

“Why bother?  Why not drop this thing in the mineshaft with the other one?”

Sam sighed and finally looked up from the old journal he’d been compulsively paging through even though he’d assured Morgan he couldn’t read a word of it.  “You don’t punish the victims of crimes, do you?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” Morgan answered irritably.  “But this thing...” he trailed off as he thought about it.  “Is a victim, too, I guess.”

“Yeah.  He didn’t do anything but turn twenty-one.”

“Okay, I’m with you.  But the doctor’s blood?”  Morgan pointed to the plastic bio-bag holding the vial they’d stopped by the hospital to collect.  “That’s just creepy.

“We need the DNA of someone related to Joseph, even if it’s only a distant cousin.  Besides, blood is very powerful,” Sam said.  “And certain blood even more so.  Since we don’t have time to go out and find a virgin,” he continued with a shrug at what Morgan was sure was a horrified look, “Consider it two birds with one stone.”

“You’re the expert,” Morgan ceded unhappily.  “The holy water I get.  But what did you get from that phony fortune teller?”

“Wing of bat, eye of newt,” Sam replied with a crooked grin, averting his gaze out the window.  “Bones of a black cat sacrificed in a graveyard at midnight on a blue moon.”

Morgan studied him as best he could with intermittent sidelong glances while still managing to keep the vehicle on the road.  It only took a minute to figure out Sam was yanking his chain.  “Bastard,” he said.

Sam laughed.  “Madame Truely isn’t as big a fraud as you think.  She had all the right herbs and potions.  And I wish I was kidding about the cat bones.”

“Ew.  Speaking of experts,” Morgan said as he answered his phone and put it on speaker.  “Reid.  What do you have?”

“This is really fascinating,” Reid began without preamble.  “This diary is a window into the everyday life of the 1860’s.  When this man came to America his wife died on the boat over, leaving him with a child to raise alone ...”

“Reid, we’re only interested in the parts concerning the curse,” Sam cut in, redirecting the genius like a champ.

“Right,” Reid agreed quickly.  “Okay, so I had a Polish professor read the journal to me...”

“The whole thing?  I hope you took notes.”

“Don’t,” Morgan advised with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, go on,” Sam back-pedaled.

“Aleksy Pajdo, incidentally, Aleksy means ‘defender’ which seems appropriate in this case,” Reid started to wander but pulled himself back on topic without being reminded.  “When he found his granddaughter and saw how she’d been mistreated he was furious.”

“As well he should be,” Morgan agreed. 

“But he was willing to let justice be served and he was sure they’d hang the creep, especially since several saloon girls had gone missing and one had even been found dead on the perp’s property.”

“Hershel was a serial killer,” Sam suggested.

“And a sexual sadist.  When the town let the guy off Aleksy took matters into his own hands to punish both Hershel Rayburn and the people who let him get away with his crimes.”

“Old news, Doctor Reid.  We need to know specifics about the curse.”

“Curses,” Reid corrected.  “The first curse was the fire curse.  But after the town burned down Aleksy found a badly injured Rayburn in the ruins.  He was close to death but Aleksy didn’t think he’d suffered enough.”

“So he added the immortality clause,” Sam guessed.

“Yes.”

“Is there actual text of the curses in the journal?  Word for word?”

“No, sorry.  He actually says very little about it.  Most of the journal was written years before this tragic incident even happened.”

“Thanks, Reid.  We’ll let you know how it turns out.”

“I could still be there by morning,” Reid suggested, his voice sounding hopeful.

Morgan smiled fondly.  “Maybe next time.”

“Okay,” Reid accepted with an audible sigh.  “Sam?” he asked before hanging up.

Sam glanced at Morgan questioningly.  Morgan only shrugged.  Nobody ever knew where Reid‘s mind would take them next. 

“Yeah?” Sam asked.

“Is Dean okay?”

“He’s fine,” Sam said and if he was lying even Morgan couldn’t tell.

***

The setup was complicated and belatedly Morgan wished they hadn‘t let the cop take down the crime scene tape.  Fortunately, word of the fire had spread and park rangers were literally sending campers to greener pastures.  Still, he kept guard on the trail for anyone who might stumble upon their macabre little group.  He felt like a glorified lookout.

A slightly addled Dean sorted and separated the stuff they’d brought from town along with other things taken from the trunk of the Impala.  Meanwhile Sam used a large branch, since the rubber tip of his crutch had barely scratched the surface of the hard-baked soil, to etch a complicated design into the earth around the... whatever the hell it was.  

Out in the open as it now was, even in the diminishing light, Morgan found himself unable to keep his eyes off the thing for long.  Gideon looked shell shocked as he crouched near it and kept up a steady monologue of reassurances and sweet nothings.

“Can it talk?” Morgan finally had to ask from his post at the top of the trail.

“Joseph,” Gideon corrected without even glancing in Morgan‘s direction.  “And he hasn’t so far.”

“Age, maybe.  Or smoke damage to his vocal cords,” Sam guessed, stepping back to review his handiwork.  The dark layer of burnt ground gave way to the lighter dirt underneath and left the mystic pattern in subtle contrast.  “I doubt anything in the curse directly affects his ability to speak.  He is still human.  Basically.” 

“Let’s do this,” Dean said as the sun dropped behind the slope of a not so distant mountain leaving them in the faint light of dusk.  Apparently this is what they‘d been waiting for.  “Jason, you might wanna back up.  Sam.”

Gideon relocated to a seat on the nearest rock as Sam and Dean traded the stick for a well-worn, ancient looking book which Sam began to read out loud from in...  Okay, Morgan wasn’t really sure what language it was but Sam’s tongue moved over the words effortlessly.  Dean leaned heavily on the stick and waited.  From the look on his face Morgan knew it wasn’t going to be a short read.

Twenty minutes later Sam closed the book.  They’d built a little alter, for lack of a better word, out of rocks and Dean began to pour this potion and that herb into a stone bowl, chanting some odd incantation as he worked.  Lastly, he emptied the vial of blood from the doctor.  When he fished a book of matches out of his pocket everyone seemed to hold their breath.

“Do you want me to...”

“No,” Dean snapped at his brother peevishly.

“I could...”

“Shut it.  That‘s what you could do.”  Dean glanced at them all in turn in general disgust as he peeled out a match but then paused involuntarily anyway just before lighting it.  His facade slipped a little but he recovered quickly.

“Wait,” Sam said just as Dean moved to strike.  Dean aborted the move and panted slightly as he glared at Sam revealing just how much effort it was taking to light the match.  Sam sheepishly took Aleksy’s journal from Gideon‘s safe keeping.  He thumbed through it until he found a lock of blonde hair tied with a tiny, faded ribbon which he added to the bowl.

“Really?” Dean said, his tone dripping with derision.

“Who’s hair is that?” Morgan asked, moving closer.  Anyone coming up the trail as the darkness fell would soon be hard pressed to see anything but shadowy figures.

“It’s probably Joseph’s or even Esther’s,” Sam speculated.

“It could be anybody’s,” Dean objected.  “For all we know it was snatched out of the old guy’s mistress’ head by his wife.”

“It’s baby hair.”

“How would you know?”

“Boys,” Gideon broke in, sounding like a father ready to turn the car around.

“If it’s been in that book for over a hundred years the chances are good it’s a closer relative to Joseph than Doctor Pajdo,” Sam fired off one last argument with a stern look.

“Will it help?” Gideon asked.

Sam shrugged.  “It won’t hurt.  Probably.”  Dean snorted but didn’t further challenge the assertion.  When everyone continued to stare at him Sam sniffed haughtily.  “It’s an art, not a science.”

While no one was looking Dean struck the match and dropped it into bowl.  There was a flash and Morgan caught a glimpse of Dean’s face in the brief flare but his expression might as well have been carved from stone.  If he flinched, Morgan missed it.  Smoke drifted lazily upward and then was quickly dispersed by the constant wind just above their protected little outcrop of rocks.  The slight stench of burnt hair lingered.

And then nothing else happened.

Gideon rose to his feet after a moment and looked first to Sam and then to Dean.

“Nothing happened,” Morgan felt obliged to point out as they all gathered around.

“Did you think he’d disappear in a puff of smoke?”  Dean asked.

“Well...” Gideon began uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Morgan finished for him.  “Something like that.”

“We just worked on the immortality part,” Sam explained.  “It was the secondary curse so it was most likely the weaker of the two.”

“I did kind of expect him to, you know, cark, or something,” Dean muttered, squatting down in front of Joseph to examine him closer.  Joseph stared back unblinking.  On closer inspection Morgan realized he couldn’t blink as he had no eyelids left.  He found himself wondering just how many fires the thing had been through.

“How do you feel?” Dean asked it softly.

Much to Morgan’s amazement Joseph made a so-so gesture with his hand.

“Cark?” Gideon asked, never one to let anything go by without comment.  Much like Reid.

“Expire.  Croak.  Urp.”

“Thank you, that’s much clearer,” Morgan told Dean who smirked up at him.

“Pass on, pass away, kick the bucket, give up the ghost...” Sam continued, deadpan.

“We get it,” Morgan growled.  As different as the brothers appeared on the surface, they were a lot alike deep down.  He gave up trying to classify them together or separately.

“Urp?”

“Let it go, Gideon.”

“What do we do now?  Urp him?” Sam asked.

“No!” Gideon and Dean protested at the same time.

“We can’t kill him,” Gideon went on to say.  “We need to take him into protective custody.”

“And who’s going to protect us?  He burns down towns,” Morgan said without rancor. 

“Just a boarding house,” Dean objected.  “Right?” he asked Joseph who lowered his head.  “Okay, a boarding house and what?  A saloon?  A five and dime?  A school?” 

Joseph nodded with each question.

“The whole town?”  Dean whispered to Joseph who continued to nod.  “Okay one town.  One town ever,” Dean continued his objection.  “And that was an accident, wasn’t it?”

This time Joseph gave him a thumbs up to which Dean beamed and mirrored the gesture back.

“The logistics of taking him in would be pretty much insurmountable,” Sam said, being perfectly reasonable.

Morgan nodded.  “I agree.”

“We’re not taking him anywhere.  He’s not gonna be turned in to a freaking lab rat,” Dean ranted.

“This could prove the existence...” Gideon began before cutting himself off.  “This brings us back to the whole innocence argument again.  We can‘t share this with anyone.”

“Yeah, but we can’t just leave him in the woods to starve to death either,” Morgan said.

“He’s already mostly there,” Sam noted as he eyed the boney body before them.  “Besides, he can eat as long as he doesn’t touch his food with his hands.  If we want to end his suffering we need to do it quickly, not let him linger.”

Dean sighed loudly then pulled out the big hunting knife he never seemed to be without.  Gideon gasped and Joseph pulled back to the little cranny in the rock face, obviously terrified.  “Easy,” Dean told him, looking at the knife then laying it aside.  He followed Joseph to the darker corner, hands held out to show no more weapons.  “I’m not gonna do anything without your say so.”

“Shotgun?  Close range,” Morgan suggested.

“I don’t know, that skin is so leathery.  It might not pass through enough to do more than hurt him,” Sam said.  “Maybe if we behead him with a machete.  You know, that would be quick.”

“No beheading,” Dean rejected the idea out right.

“It all seems so cruel,” Gideon bemoaned.  “Joseph, I’m so sorry you have to hear this.”

“Do you want this to end?  Now?” Dean asked Joseph, up close and personal.

Joseph nodded unhurriedly, accepting his fate with something akin to relief perhaps, or even gratitude.  The grace and dignity were unmistakable.  Morgan suspected there would be tears streaming down the damaged face if it was still physically possible.

“Put your hands together,” Dean murmured gently.  “It’ll all be over in a minute.”

“Dean, move back,” Gideon requested.  Beside him Sam bristled protectively as well.

“I won’t leave you.  I’ll stay right here until it’s over.”  Dean placed his own palms together and nodded his encouragement.  “You can do it.”

“Will it work?” Gideon asked Sam in a quiet aside.

“He can set rocks on fire,” Sam said.  “Old weathered skin shouldn’t be a problem no matter how tough.  I guess it all depends if we broke the immortality clause.”

Joseph slowly brought his hands up like he was about to clap, staring directly into Dean’s face he looked almost enraptured.  Morgan readied himself to drag Dean out of the way and felt more than saw Sam do the same.  Dean nodded once more and Joseph trusted him enough to clasp his hands together.

The resultant burst of flame was instantaneous and hellish, sending a red shockwave of heat into a six-foot radius in front of Joseph and back into the rock.  A sound that might have been a scream pierced the night but was gone the moment it started.  Dean froze in place for a half a second but as Morgan and Sam moved to grab him he was already jumping back.

They stood huddled together breathing heavily when Gideon suddenly appeared, shining a flashlight into Dean’s face.  The beam highlighted wet streaks on Dean’s cheeks but Gideon was more concerned with the smoldering hair which he hastily patted until he was sure it was out.

“Dude,” Dean said simply, pulling away from the group.

Morgan patted Sam’s shoulder as they both heaved a sigh of relief.  Then Morgan commandeered Gideon’s flashlight and moved to the still smoldering corner where Joseph had been.  The rock was too hot to touch and looked slightly melted and there was nothing of the creature... no, Joseph was still a man, Morgan told himself.  There was nothing of the man left.

Gideon followed Dean to where he stood with his back to them, his head down and his hands on the rocky wall.  He plucked something from the crevice as he turned and handed it to Gideon before walking away.  “Mother Nature is ahead of schedule,” he told him. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sam suggested as he gathered his crutch and followed his brother down the trail.

“What is it?” Morgan asked.  Gideon turned his flashlight on the tiny purple flower in his hand.

***

Dean kicked back on the small deck and put his feet up on the rail.  Sam hobbled out of the cabin crutchless and handed him a bottle.  “Dude looks like a lady,” he sang.

“That joke’s getting old,” Dean complained.  “Besides, it doesn’t look that bad.”

“Dude.  Where’d you get an eyebrow pencil anyway?  You look like Joan Crawford.”  Sam took the chair next to him and put his feet up as well, leaning back and taking a deep pull from his own drink.

“Who?”  Dean asked, wrinkling his nose before he thought better of it.  The burned skin tingled uncomfortably.  “Ow.”  He took a drink from his bottle and nearly spit it out.  “What the hell?”  He examined the label angrily.  “Lemonade!  It‘s not even hard lemonade.”

Sam smirked.  “The doctor said no alcohol until the concussion heals.  You‘re lucky you‘ve still got two brain cells to rub together as it is.”

“You know, it was bad enough being mothered by Jason all the way here,” Dean vented.  “I don’t need you on the bandwagon, too.”

“There’s not any beer so get over it.”

Dean wanted to scowl but it wasn’t worth it.  He took another drink and the cool liquid sliding down his throat felt good, and it tasted great but he’d die of thirst before he‘d tell Sam that.  “And don’t even get me started on Morgan driving my baby.  It took a day and a half to get here.  He drives worse than you do.”  He had to complain about something.

“If by worse you mean slower, then yes, he does.  How do you like the security of this place?” Sam asked, indicating the closest video camera with the hand he held his lemonade in as the other one was back in a splint per mother Gideon. 

“Gideon did it up right.”

“Yeah, well, his line of work and all,” Sam agreed. 

“Makes me glad we just deal with supernatural shit.  Psychos are just plain crazy.”

“Thus the word ‘psycho’.  A couple warding spells and a devil‘s trap and this place would be tight,” Sam contemplated, growing quiet for a minute.  “We could use an East coast base.  I’m sure Jason wouldn’t mind.”

“Are you kidding me?  He’d pee his pants.”

“He’s bringing Reid up this weekend.”

“Great,” Dean tried to sound put out but he couldn’t stop the little smile that tugged at his lip.  “We could get in a little weapons training.”

“I’ll train with him,” Sam said.  “You‘ll be resting your brain.”

“With Reid around?  Fat chance.”

“No recoil, remember?  That was on Doc‘s list of no-no‘s.  Right before running and right after jumping off cliffs.”

 “It was a short cliff.”

 “Whatever.”

Dean snorted but he couldn’t seem to stay mad in the serenity of these woods.  No local legends of werewolves or Wendigos or even hermits, well, except for Gideon himself.  And they were on lock down for the next three weeks if Gideon had his way.  It was the closest they’d ever come to a real vacation.

They sat in silence for a minute and Dean’s mind went back to Colorado.  “Rest in peace, Joseph,” he finally said.  Sam leaned his bottle over towards him so he clinked it with his own in salute.  He closed his eyes and let the tranquility wash over him.  Maybe he did need a little down time.

“She whipped out her gun and tried to blow me away,” Sam started singing again.

“Dude.  You don’t even like Aerosmith,” Dean grumbled as he took another drink of lemonade.

 

 

_“Where flowers bloom so does hope.”_

_\--Lady Bird Johnson_

 

 

The End


End file.
